


Watching

by cathalin



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-01
Updated: 2009-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They watch each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

The line of sight from Adam's bed goes straight into the bathroom, then through the clear shower door. This has never mattered before tonight.  
  
Usually they both close the outer door to the bathroom when they shower, though it's unspoken that if one of them needs something, they can come in unless the door's locked. Adam had worried about that a little, but Kris'd made it clear it didn't freak him out having Adam wander in, or coming in himself when Adam was preening or brushing his teeth or whatever, so it was all good.

Tonight it's mattering, that dead-on line-of-sight view, because Kris obviously forgot to close the outer bathroom door. He probably didn't even think about it, since Adam had been dead asleep when Kris'd come in. The pace has been grueling, and it's the first time in a week that Adam's had the chance to crash out early.

Adam doesn't know what woke him, but he sure isn't asleep now. The steam beginning to rise out of the shower obscures his view a little, but it's still very clear what Kris is doing. He's kind of slouched back against the tiled wall, rubbing the bar of soap luxuriously over the front of his body, now dipping into the vee of his crotch, lingering over his dick.

Adam's cock stirs. He tries hard not to think about Kris in any way but as a friend; he's done a great job of it, really. He rarely even remembers any more that Kris is exactly his type; shorter, compact, brown-eyed. The important thing is their friendship, and he's not deluded himself for a single second about Kris's orientation. Sure, once in a while a stray fantasy gets through, or the sunlight catches in just the right way in Kris's hair, but mainly, it's not an issue.

It's an issue right now, though, because Kris has both hands down around his dick, one with the soap, the other, from what Adam can see, curled loosely around himself and pumping a little.

Adam exhales and squirms; he's already half-hard, and it's becoming more difficult not to reach down and just squeeze a little, try to relieve some pressure. He can't though; it would obviously be wrong, very wrong, to involve his cock in anything having to do with Kris.

Kris's head arches back against the tile and his hand shoots out to scrabble for the soap dish; he manages to put the soap away. Kris's hand comes up to circle first one nipple, then the other. The line of Kris's spine is gorgeous, his neck a gentle C-curve. Adam can picture Kris's eyelashes, fluttering against his perfect skin.

Adam squirms. His cock is throbbing.

He reaches down and presses a little through his sleep pants, just to relieve the ache a bit. He licks his lips. He can imagine how Kris would taste right now -- salty tang overlain with wholesome soap and warm water. He's sucked people off in showers before, and there's always an other-worldly quality to it, the water haloing around his ears focusing everything down to just the cock in his mouth, the strong thighs he's gripping with his hands, the slight discomfort of his knees on the tile.

Wrong. Very, very wrong. He is not going to think about Kris in this way.

Kris makes a sound, audible over the water, maybe a gasp or possibly a little moan. Adam loves sucking cock, and it's all too easy to imagine the sounds Kris would make, how maybe no one's ever taken him in really deep before, how his breathing would get fast, his hands stroke in Adam's hair at first, and then, if Adam rubbed his balls, yank a little. He'd probably be worried he was hurting Adam, and try to ease his grip, but Adam would just keep sucking, then bring a stealth finger to the spot just behind his balls, to see--Kris would moan and buck and seriously pull Adam's hair, and...

Fuck it. Adam's never claimed to be an angel. He's obviously doing this. He opens his eyes -- screw morality and plus Kris will never know, it won't hurt him -- he might as well get the full experience. Adam's hand is curled tightly around his cock now under the partially-kicked-down sheets. He gasps out a breath, because wow, Kris has one hand down around his balls now, and isn't _that_ a picture. The other is working his dick steadily; through the glass, Adam can see the knotted muscles of Kris's amazing biceps. Adam pictures the water sluicing through Kris's sopping hair, running in rivulets over his face and into his ripe mouth.

Kris's head falls forward, hands working busily, and Adam can imagine that, too, the minutes right before everything's rushing in your ears and you have to curl in on yourself. Jesus Christ, Kris is going to _come_ , right there in their shower. All he wants to do is touch Kris, soft skin and hard muscle, pull dirty noises out of his mouth and do filthy things to his body.

Adam closes his eyes, because he can't stand it any more; he's going to fucking get up and get in the shower with Kris if he keeps watching. Kris is going to be a while still, and Adam's already crossed way over the line anyway, so he lets himself go, lets himself imagine it, walking in on Kris, Kris's eyes opening wide, then narrowing, Kris licking his lips, then nodding, grabbing Adam's arm and pulling him into the shower.

Adam's got another hand working now, cupping his balls, fingers brushing back every few strokes over the soft skin behind. Kris would arch and beg so prettily, mouth open, eyes dazed, he'd--

A soft sound makes Adam's eyes fly open.

Kris is standing a few feet away against the wall, staring wide-eyed at Adam.

Adrenaline rushes through Adam and he gasps; his body is flooded with tingling fear. He's momentarily frozen, heart beating wildly in his ears.

Kris's eyes rake Adam's body, and Adam realizes that the covers are kicked all the way down. When did that happen?

Kris has a tiny towel in his hand, and he's holding it in front of his crotch. Other than that, he's stark naked, hair standing up like he was just toweling it dry.

Heat floods Adam's face but he's still frozen, motionless. A second ticks off, then another, before he finally makes an abortive movement towards the sheet. Oh fuck, this is going to screw with everything, and after he'd specifically told Kris he didn't do this. Adam had sucked it up and finally had a talk with Kris a few weeks ago about -- for want of a better term -- his little crush. _I'm not going to turn you into porn, just so you know. I don't do that, cross that line._ Kris had smiled, eyes crinkling, and just said lightly, "I know. No worries." And there hadn't been any worries. No weirdness, and not an iota of hesitation from Kris about their interactions. If anything, it'd only made them grow closer.

So now, this, which is such an asshole thing to do to Kris.

Kris shakes his head, eyes intense, and Adam can't figure out why, because it's not a _you asshole_ head shake, it's something else, especially combined with the slight tilt of Kris's head and the teeth biting a little into Kris's lower lip. Kris catches and holds Adam's eyes with his, then shakes his head fractionally again, runs his eyes obviously -- the kind of obviously that means he wants it to be noticed -- down Adam's body again.

Adam shivers. _What the hell?_ One of his hands is halfway to the sheets, frozen in the air, the other still wrapped loosely around his cock.

Kris bites his lip even harder; Adam can see it turning white from where he's lying, then slowly, deliberately, Kris leans back against the wall behind him. He licks his lips, then smiles, the smile Adam has come to think of as Kris being a little evil, the smile Adam's begun to associate with the thought, _oh fuck, what new part of Kris am I going to see now for the first time?_. Eyes locked on Adam's, Kris turns his lean into a slouch, then slowly brings one arm up over his head, elbow forming a vee framing his head, the sparse hair under his arm damp. He's still holding the tiny towel in front of him with the other hand, barely, but he's let it slide down so Adam can see curls just showing over the top. Kris cocks his hip a little, and Adam's eyes trace the line from Kris's stomach down the side of his hip, the line he always loves to trace with the flat of his tongue when he's got a guy underneath him.

Something slams through Adam's body, and he can't even identify it in the wake of all the adrenalin and lust and fear he's experienced in the past few minutes, but this simple thing, Kris's pose, has him more turned on than pretty much anything he's seen, and he's seen a lot.

It's Adam's turn to pull his eyes up to Kris's face and wrinkle his forehead, because, what the hell? And also, no, not something you do with a friend; Kris might mean this now, but later, or tomorrow, he'll regret it, and the regret will turn to avoidance. That's not something he's willing to risk, even with his raging hard-on begging him to just do it, already.

Kris raises an eyebrow at Adam, then looks him up and down again slowly, deliberately. When he gets back up to Adam's face, Kris looks right into his eyes, and it's like he's taken a mask off, because it's all there for Adam to see -- not just the friendship and love, but something else, something passionate and hot, something that makes Adam's breath catch in his throat.

He's fucked, because that look, in Kris's eyes... Adam raises an eyebrow, asking one last time, _are you sure?_. They've been able to do this for quite a while now, have whole conversations without speaking -- they've had lots of practice communicating over coffee mugs and reporter's heads during the endless string of interviews that come with being the last ones standing.

Kris nods, breath quickening even as Adam watches; Kris's chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he arches his back a little more.

So, okay, that is apparently the limit of Adam's self-control, because Kris looks like something from Adam's soft-porn dreams, only it's Kris, not some nameless guy.

Adam moves his hand on his cock and sucks in a harsh breath, because he's rock-hard and so sensitive, it feels like he could come just from looking at Kris, which probably isn't too far from the truth.

Kris's eyes lock on Adam's cock, maybe so Adam can look at him without risking meeting Kris's eyes, or, who knows at this point, maybe because Kris wants to watch, wants to fuel his own soft-porn (or in this case, pretty hard porn, actually) fantasies.

The permission changes everything, and Adam lets himself go for it, riding the wave of adrenalin and heat. He pictures Kris up against the wall just like he is right now, sees himself licking at Kris's armpit, holding him still with a hand on his hip, licking his way down his hard pecs, the defined abs, sinking down and sucking him in. Kris would gasp and cling to his hair, and when Adam sucked his own fingers into his mouth, Kris would moan. Adam would trail his fingers, dripping, back and back until they were teasing at Kris, then make Kris look at him before he'd do it, push first one, then two in, brushing inside where it'd do the most good, teasing and teasing him until Kris was frantic for it, begging.

Adam's so close -- the least little thing and he'll go over the edge -- and he lets himself take it all in again, Kris posing against the wall, eyes hot on Adam, black and deep, not hiding a single thing. Adam lets himself see it, pictures Kris wrapping a leg around his waist, sees himself using the wall to prop Kris's hips, fucking Kris hard and fast like that, Kris's arm thrown up around his head, Adam's mouth on his shoulder.

Adam wants to say Kris's name into line of muscle at his hip, into his neck, into his mouth. He wants to--

Kris makes a little movement and Adam manages to focus.

Kris drops the towel.

Kris reaches for his own dick, muscles rippling in the faint light from the bathroom. His arms alone could supply Adam with jerk-off material for months, but this, Kris's big hand twisting hot and hard over himself, head thrown back, eyes glittering at Adam under his eyelashes...

Adam's toes curl and his back arches off the bed.

Kris makes a sound, a little wet moan, eyes still locked on Adam. Kris's chest is heaving. His left arm is still up behind him on the wall.

Adam can see when Kris starts coming again; his stomach muscles ripple, a drop of blood wells from where he's bitten his lip too hard, his neck is one long, sweet line.

Everything goes white, then black, as every muscle in Adam's body seizes. Adam's gasps are harsh, frantic in the quiet room. Come stripes his belly, wave after wave of it, hot on his skin.

When he finally can focus again, he sees Kris, still against the wall, arm now flung over his eyes. Adam's cock jumps futilely when he sees the wet stripes on Kris's belly and thighs, shining a little in the faint light.

Kris slowly moves the arm from over his eyes, bends to pick up the towel and starts to daub at himself. He's not looking at Adam any more, and Adam thinks, _oh, shit_.

He must make a little noise, because Kris glances up at him, all soulful eyes and crazy hair. Adam starts to try to form words, somehow make this right, apologize, whatever, but Kris preempts him with a hand held up in a clear signal of _stop_. Kris shakes his head at Adam and brings his finger to his lips, universal signal for quiet.

Adam's face must show his fear, because Kris widens his eyes a little, shakes his head, miming the hush signal on his lips one more time. Adam frantically darts questions at Kris with his eyes and Kris shrugs eloquently, then smiles. It starts out small, just a quirk at the corner of his mouth, then grows into one of Kris's most genuine, sweet smiles. He raises his eyebrows at Adam: _you getting me now?_.

Adam can't help the belly laugh that spills out of him like relief. Okay, then, Kristopher. Sure. He rolls his eyes at Kris dramatically, then holds up his hands for the towel, which Kris throws straight at him. He sops up the worst of the mess and pulls up the sheet as Kris climbs into his own waiting bed.

Only then, in the total silence, does Adam realize they haven't said a single word during the whole, strange encounter. It's quiet; really, really quiet. He reaches down and, before he can think too hard, grabs the now-disgusting towel and throws it at Kris's head.

He hears it hit. Kris's laugh rings out strong and true and Adam smiles, then joins in the laughter, relieved. It's really going to be okay. And he's got some amazing jerk-off material, fully authorized by one Kristopher Allen.

The world is a seriously kick-awesome place.


End file.
